Former home of Ranting and Raving, Charlotte-based writer Regan White has taken a turn as a recovering journalist. Continue to follow the antics, anecdotes, sarcasm and sentimentalism here.

February 2008

February 27, 2008

Oh no! I spend a whole day on deadline only to realize that my man William F. Buckley Jr. died today at 82 at his home in Connecticut.

I met Bill during my time at Yale. I had dinner with him. I became the go-to girl for his Scotch. By the end of the evening I was calling him Bill, at his request, much to the dismay of the organizers of the event, the lovely folks at St. Thomas More (the Catholic chapel that both Bill and I attended while at Yale, which tended to be far more liberal - at least when I was in school - than St. Mary's across campus).

Ugghhhhhhh... Tuesday was absolutely rotten, a fact that makes it all the better to celebrate that we're only 13 minutes away from Wednesday. (Never mind that Wednesdays are usually the hairiest days of the week for me. At least I know it will end well as I have dinner with an old friend planned. My plans are to get sauced. Just an FYI.)

I still have a story to work on tonight and I'd rather die than do it. I'm contemplating just hitting the hay but I know I'm not a morning person so odds are that won't go well and I'll be even more anxious come sunrise. Which, by the way, I can't believe that daylight savings is fast approaching us. Considering my aforementioned love of the morning you can imagine how much I love ratcheting those clock hands forward an hour.

Today was one of those days where absolutely nothing went right. Big stuff went wrong and so did little stuff. I lost a story I had been editing (because I'm an idiot and opened it straight from the e-mail and never saved it) and it took me the better part of 30 minutes to retrieve it from my temporary Internet files, primarily because my computer kept freezing as I had 1,000 applications open. I spilled coffee on myself. I was wearing white. I then accidentally dipped one of my white drawstrings on the jacket I was wearing into the red pomegranate white tea I was drinking. Awesome. I had to rush over to the government center to pick up a CD with a Power-Point presentation of Park & Rec's 10-year master plan on it. I run uptown only to find that they were able to load it on their Web site while I was in route. On the way there a giant truck simply stopped in the middle of Seventh Street, stretched across nearly all the lanes, continuously trying to back into this shady lock and safe place.

Needless to say I was thrilled when, while sitting at a long light after dealing with the truck fiasco, a guy who was turning left right in front of me nearly hit not one but THREE people in oncoming traffic. I don't know if he was on drugs or what but he just kept trying and each car would slam on its brakes, honk loudly and move around him. It was the weirdest thing ever. But justice prevailed, for one of the first times on the road that I've ever seen, and a cop showed up out of nowhere and immediately pulled his butt over the MINUTE he cleared the intersection. I started smiling and turned to find the guy in the truck next to me doing the same. We both nodded at each other and laughed heartily together - he in his county service truck, me in the little Subie.

I never returned to hear the last two talks in the Prodigal Son Lenten series at church. My parents went, though, and you can imagine how I quizzed them. Apparently last night the priest talked about the oldest son, the good guy who sticks around and helps his dad and then feels all unappreciated when his jerk of a brother comes back and everyone acts like he's the second coming. I can't really get into all I would want to about what was said in the talk, due to certain individuals who read the blog, but suffice it to say the Prodigal Son parable is something I have a hard time with. I think, for me, it all comes down to justice. I don't think the oldest son is being a whiny jerk. I think he was probably genuinely happy his brother came back. But I think he was ticked that he had always done the right thing and he felt entirely unappreciated. This is no good for me. I can appreciate the metaphor. I'm thankful that God can forgive sinners the same as saints because Lord knows which way I'm headed. But honestly, what's my impetus to try to do the right thing every single day if I'd get the same treatment if I told off my parents, went off the grid for a while and sinned every way I know how, only to return three years later and go, "Wow. Yeah, I'm REALLY sorry about all that."

That's it for my Catholic church ramblings. If you are Catholic or are friends with any Catholics you know that we're not a real evangelical people. It's not that we don't believe in it, we just don't talk about religion the way some other denominations do. We can't quote the Bible. We don't learn it by heart, we simply learn the stories by hearing them over and over and over again. We could probably repeat the lines to you but would have a hard time actually finding them in the Bible. We don't really try to convert anyone. We mind our own business as best we can.

I can't tell you how many Southerners have asked if Catholics are Christians or believe in Christ. I used to think this was simply ignorance on their parts, but now I think it probably has to do in large part because we simply don't talk about it, especially to people of other faiths. Oh sure when prompted we'll talk about what we believe or why we believe it, but you generally won't find us STARTING the conversation or going after people. Maybe it's just the people I know.

Wow, I totally didn't mean for this to be a faith discussion. I have actually funny/weird news to report. Again, this story has an accompanying photo but I'm too lazy to go downstairs and offload it from my camera. So this post, like most of the others lately (and sadly) will be image-less. *sigh*

I went to Wal-Mart last night to pick up some things. Primarily Zantac 150. I have a wretched stomach and ulcers that flare from time to time and I've developed one allergy or another to most of the prescription medications. Anywhoo, I had my camera in my car and - wanting to take pictures of the Easter candy aisle - I took it in with me.

Most of you know my love for Cadbury Mini Eggs and my obsession with watching for when they first appear on store shelves. Well, on a recent visit I noticed that not only were they OUT, but that they also are being offered a bit differently this year. They're still offered in the giant purple bag, but they're now also offered in one-color bags, just like M&M's. You know how they have bags of green M&M's for Valentine's Day and the like? Well now Cadbury Mini Eggs are offered in bags of just yellow, pink, blue, purple or a light green. It's so weird. Weirder still, Wal-Mart has lined their candy in color order. So you have a yellow section, complete with yellow mini eggs, yellow Hershey kisses, yellow M&M's, yellow Peeps and so forth. It's insane.

I took my camera in with me and started snapping away. Some employees gathered, but really just stood there watching me. They were saying things like "She's taking pictures." There were three employees there just staring. I stopped and turned to them, thinking they'd say something to me, but they just kept staring so I kept shooting. I then put my camera away and continued to run my errands. I'm not two or three aisles away when I hear a woman trolling the aisles going, "Gladys, was there someone taking pictures in your aisle?" and "Hey Steve, have you seen anyone taking pictures in here?" It was so weird. I walked normally, picked up my items, and got out of the store without ever being apprehended. For a moment I thought, "Maybe I should really track this person down and explain myself." Then I realized that with my luck lately they'd clear my memory card and give me a reaming, even with my lovely explanation. So I went on my merry way. And it's not like they couldn't have stopped me if they really wanted to. My camera bag is huge and it's not like I was hiding it. Plus, I was on the store's video.

It was just too funny. OK seriously must get going now. No recent weird dreams to report, sadly. Maybe I can conjure some up tonight.

February 25, 2008

It really burns me how the minute it turns 12:01 a.m., AOL wishes me a good morning when I log on. I KNOW that it's technically morning, but being the night owl that I am I don't want to be reminded that I'm cutting into my sleep time and that it's already morning. Sheesh! Nothing makes you feel like you're already behind than reading "Good morning, Regan!" before you've even had the chance to go to bed.

And I'm still wondering how it's already Monday morning. I can remember bits and pieces of this weekend, and overall had a great time, but man, where did the time go? And this is the final week of birthday month, too! Ah, *sigh*!

A brief note before I hit the hay, I went to a Lenten talk tonight at church about the parable of the prodigal son and this woman sitting in front of me kept nodding her head every time the priest would explain some part of the scripture. Only this was no normal head nodding. It was full ceiling-to-floor, exaggerated, "everyone please take note that I already know this and am nodding that this priest is actually correct and knows what he's talking about" head motions. I wanted to throw a hymnal at her. Just because the rest of us aren't giving ourselves whiplash doesn't mean we don't know this stuff, lady! Jeez! Again, probably not the right attitude, but come on! I couldn't even pay attention with the human equivalent of a know-it-all bobble-head doll sitting in the pew in front of me. Get it together, lady! You don't get extra points for nodding your head and knowing the answer. You already knew this? Great! Then leave or keep it to yourself.

I think it was last night that my dream included a GIANT spider that crawled over the edge of my comforter and stared at me. In my dream it freaked me out so much that I sat up in bed (in real life) and threw the comforter off me. I've had this dream before and normally I'll turn on the lights and make sure a spider isn't in my bed. Only this time I was too tired so I just slid back to my pillow with my sheet and a light blanket on. I got cold a number of times throughout the evening but was so out of it that I kept thinking, "Nah, I can't use the comforter. It could still have the spider on it. It's likely moved closer in this span of time anyway."

The meteorologists can kiss my foot. 65 degrees my butt. Have you been outside today? It's dreary, foggy, cold and nasty. Granted, they may have between 1 and 3 p.m. to save face but generally speaking meteorologists have the best jobs in the world. What other job is there that you can be wrong most of the time and no one really cares. They're hired on their likability factors. Their accuracy isn't even tracked. They could predict monkeys to fly out of their butts in the forecast for the following day and then say, "Oh, just kidding," and still have their jobs.

Hey, hey! Sorry to be so MIA. My sister really got on me today saying that the worst part of how busy I am is the fact that I have no time to blog anymore. I feel I've let my blogging friends down. Sorry guys.

After posting the photo of baby Brendan earlier this week I was about to put another post ranting about my city-issued garbage can, but didn't really think it would be fitting over the glowing birth announcement. I started posting about WINTER STORM 2008 last night, but my Internet went out, a trend that continued today throughout work. I don't know what the deal is, but I keep getting e-mails one by one in drips and drabs every few minutes. It's strange as anything.

I hope everyone had a fabulous week and a wonderful Friday. I, for the most part, was in a wretched mood all week. It started to lift today, thankfully. It's a good thing since if things continued on the path they were on I would most likely be staring at a jail cell right now.

It doesn't really help to wake up on Thursday morning and think it's Saturday, either. Nothing is worse than realizing that you're not one but TWO days away from the weekend -- except maybe to wake up Monday and think it's Sunday.

Anywhoo, here we are feeling better. I've gotten into the habit of grabbing steamed, skim milk flavored with vanilla at Starbucks on nights when I'm ready and able to hit the sheets and I'll tell you what it knocks me out like nothing else. As a kid I never was a warm milk kind of person. A perpetual night owl, my mom tried to ply me with warm milk more times than I could count. Not only did I find it gross, but it never made me sleepy.

I don't know if it's the hormones or what but MAN it knocks me OUT. I had some last night and it was like the house could have fallen down around me and I wouldn't have known it. I had some tonight and already my eyes are at half mast. I feel like I'm getting hooked on uppers and downers. In the morning it's coffee or pomegranate white tea at night - steamed vanilla milk. Whew!

And these weather fluctuations are killing me. It's FRIGID tonight and yet it's going to be in the 60s tomorrow? My head can't handle it.

And now that I've finished the "Welcome to the nursing home hour" we're going to cut to a break from our sponsor, Ensure...

Man I really do sound like an old woman and I haven't even started complaining yet about how my knees kill in the cold.

We are 10 minutes shy of the end of another Friday in Lent. I hate Lent, always have. It's a time of reflection, a time to feel guilty and repent and strive to constantly be a better person. All of these are good things in theory but it makes for a very long, bleak 40-day stretch. That's kind of the point but it doesn't really take away from what a downer it is. And of course it culminates in what, for Christians, is supposed to be the ultimate celebration in Christ's crucifixion and rising from the dead, however even this too is tinged in sadness in the way it all happens and the reminder that people do such evil things to one another.

ANYWAY, Lent means no meat on Fridays - something that I follow pretty religiously, no pun intended. Occasionally I forget but this year I've done pretty well. Now it has seemed to me that some Lents have been worse than others on this point. What I mean is that when I was little and really even in college, some Lents it seemed like not eating meat on Fridays was the biggest pain in the butt. I felt I was being deprived beyond what words could express. I don't know what changed but it doesn't seem that way anymore. I absolutely adore tuna fish, which is a bit troubling, and between that and spaghetti I'm pretty much set.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying that on Thursday I stopped into Jersey Mike's to get sandwiches for me and a co-worker. Today I found myself in the same neighborhood and, recalling that it was a tuna day, stopped in to get a tuna sandwich. I walked in and the guy behind the counter smiled and said, "Wow! Two days in a row! It must be my lucky week!"

I laughed because this same guy had served me the day prior. It made sense. Then when I went to the register the guy who owns the franchise asked while ringing me up, "How did you guys enjoy that party platter the other day?" My office had ordered two party trays of subs about a month back.

"Wow, I'm that recognizable?" I said.

"Well, that and I remember your name. I knew a Regan once..."

I can't tell you how many times I've had this conversation with people. Interestingly it's generally guys referring to a female Regan they were in love with. It wouldn't be so odd except that Regan isn't the most common name, especially for girls, so to have had even one conversation like this with someone is pretty funny.

Once, when I was 4 or 5 years old, I was on vacation with my parents and we were on a boat. The captain let me steer and my parents kind of freaked out (as they retell the story to me) because he literally handed me the wheel and walked off to talk to my parents. When he asked my name he said, "Ah, I knew a Regan once..." and began recounting how she had been the love of his life and how she had slipped from his grasp. My parents say it would have been a really touching moment if the guy's romantic musings hadn't been inspired by the presence and naming of a toddler.

The guy in Jersey Mike's really didn't get into it but he had that same look on his face. I gathered up my sandwich and quickly hurried over to the tureens of iced tea.

I can only hope someone will say that about me one day. Maybe they'll be on a boat or ringing up a sandwich and they'll stop and say, "What was your name? Ahh, I knew a Regan once..."

Sleep well, guys. I've been back to having some pretty wonky dreams lately, which is pretty fun. I had a dream the other night that this GIANT guy stopped by my house to visit. In the dream I knew him. There was some kind of romantic tension between us even though he was literally nine or 10 feet tall. He couldn't get into our house he was so tall so we just stood and talked out by my mailbox. He had on a giant leather coat the size of my car. When he went to go I went to hug him and literally was hugging his shoe just about. He picked me up awkwardly and we hugged that way. I then looked at him and said, "Man, you're like the damn BFG."

And that was the end of the dream.

Now how you get a dream like that without the assistance of illegal drugs, I'm not too sure. Then again, it could be the steamed milk.

February 19, 2008

Congratulations to the adorable O'Connell family who welcomed baby Brendan Christopher just before 2 p.m. today!

The wait was seemingly long but well worth it. At 7 pounds, 13 ounces, Brendan managed to bypass his Valentine's Day due date and skirt past the birthdays of both his older brother P.J. and dad Sean to secure his very own special day.

You'd be hard pressed to find a cuter bunch than the O'Connell clan. Congratulations to Michele, big brother P.J., baby Brendan for finally joining the crew, and Sean, who is the closest I've ever come to having a brother. Much love, laughter, health and happiness to your family now and always.

February 15, 2008

Thank you to everyone who made it such a special day -- most notably my family; Leslie of the Charlotte or Queen City Chocolate Co. (I think that's the name of the company), who dropped a personal stash of chocolate and the sweetest note ever to the office today; Anne Lynn whose sweet card arrived in the mail today; and Neil for the unexpected and entirely sweet surprise visit, red roses in tow. I'm so blessed to have such wonderful people in my life. Oh, and a big thank you to the door greeter at Sam's Club today (where I unsuccessfully first attempted to get VDay cupcakes; they were out. ("We're out!" KeriAnn that's for you)) who gave me a Hershey kiss and wished me a sweet Valentine's Day. He was the cutest older man ever.

I can't help but absolutely love Valentine's Day. Call it the consumer in me, but I love everything about it. I ran into an inordinate number of people today who high-mindedly talked about how they choose to not really celebrate Valentine's Day because they think they should tell the people they love that they love them EVERY day. That's very true. But why not make it extra, extra special one day every year? Why not devote a day to love? We have a day devoted to labor for Pete's sake.

And the bitter singletons - jeez. I'll never understand it. Every Valentine's Day - whether I'm single or spoken for - makes me thankful of all the love in my life, in all it's forms. Whether it's my little girl dog Leeloo Annie, my sister, a faithful reader or a sweetheart, I'm blessed to have so much love in my life.

I wore "the boots" today. I don't know if I've written about them before or not on here. They used to be the image that went with the masthead of my column, before I ever had that black-and-white triptych shot taken. I purchased them in high school with money I won through an art competition. I got them at a Nordstrom store in New Jersey. They were $400 at the time, I think. Made in Spain by Luichiny. They are giant alligator-textured platform boots. The platforms have to be a good four to six inches. I measured one time. They come to my knees and are bright patent-leather red and decked with shiny leather hearts in blue, green and purple. I snuck them in to my conservative high school graduation ceremony and wore them on stage. Dozens of classmates' parents still remember me as "the girl in the red boots." I wore them every Valentine's Day since I purchased them, one time when I showed up to a high school assembly as "Spirit Spice" and in my college graduation.

I think their days may be numbered as I'm becoming an old lady and can't handle wearing them all day anymore. The leather is pretty thick and - being as patent as they are - stiff, so they crease around my ankles and by 3:30 today they were killing me and cutting into my ankles. Still, I got an awesome reaction from a 4-year-old boy at Manhattan Bagel this morning, so I can't complain.

I'm listening right now to the crooning of cheesy, popular Italian singer Lucio Battisti. It's soothing, even if I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time. My friend Marisa sent the CD to me from Italy for my birthday. She's studying in Florence this semester en route to her PhD and first heard this guy while studying one summer in Perugia. He's cheesy in a '70s love song kind of way. He's addictive for the same reasons. Listening to him when I'm drifting off to sleep fills my dreams with visions of daisies and rainbows and green fields dotted by the occasional grazing unicorn. (Do unicorns even graze? I've never seen a picture of one of them actually EATING. Given that they're entirely fantastical creatures - if you believe otherwise, please don't admit it out loud - I'm sure it doesn't matter much. As fictional, magical beasts they don't really NEED food. I just find it funny that I can't really recall any image I've ever seen of them munching on grass or hay or any other plant product like other horse-like creatures.)

And now that I've officially engaged in tripped-out unicorn conversation I'm off to bed. Much love to all of you and sweet dreams. xo

February 13, 2008

I saw a toilet bowl brush this morning in a store window. The handle was a plastic Hillary Clinton. It was amazing. It was early this morning and the store wasn't open yet, otherwise I would have marched right in and purchased it. It's probably the first time that I'd willingly offer to clean just about every single toilet bowl I could possibly find.

I've done something horribly wrong to my neck. I don't know if it's just the wretched combo of sleeping funny and then sitting in a hunched-over position all day or what but MAN I want to cry. I can't find a comfortable position to sit or even lay in while I type and this is very bad since there's a story I still have to write. I just completed 11 pages of transcription and have been going through highlighting it all. Oh joy.

I think I'm headed to bed to try and get up early. Otherwise I'll just stay up until 4 a.m. and then I'll be REALLY cranky. I'll have to get my hands on that Hillary toilet bowl cleaner for a little bit of cleansing, karmic therapy.

February 10, 2008

My sister and I went to a movie tonight. On the way home we were stopped at a light when a giant Harris Teeter delivery truck turned in front of us. It was the seafood-delivery truck. It claimed to have the freshest catch around. And it featured in full color a shrimp the size of my car speared by a large fork. As the image sped past us, blazoned on the side of the truck, both of us couldn't help but notice that in large letters under the SUV-sized shrimp it said "ACTUAL SIZE MAY VARY."

Really? Because I was hoping that they really were carting shrimp of that stature in the bed of the truck. And I plan on holding them to it and suing them for false advertising, telling them that at 12:16 a.m. on Sunday, Feb. 10, they led me to believe that they'd be offering fresh, monster truck-sized shrimp. What liars.

We were nearly home when an equally large opossum sauntered from a neighbor's yard across the street. I stopped the car, the headlights beaming into the dumb opossum's eyes. He tried to run, but was too fat. It came out like some kind of lame, loping skip. He turned once more, staring back at us. I continued to scream.

Man, opossum's are ugly, there's just no way around it. And they're not one of God's more graceful creatures either. And why the relatively silent o? What's that about? Maybe because the sight of them is nearly always accompanied by an exclamation of "OH MY GOD."

February 09, 2008

I felt horrible last night. I don't know what happened, but I do know that my stomach went bad. I was supposed to go to Taylor's Fairy Tale Ball fund-raiser last night. I never made it. I ended up in bed by 9 p.m. and asleep by 9:15. Yay, Friday night!

However, because I had drifted off to sleep hours before my usual late-night bedtime, I found myself awake and alert at 4 a.m. I browsed the Internet for a good two hours or so before drifting off for a few more hours.

Weird things I read during that time:

Coca-Cola makes a soda in Japan called Love Body, which contains some kind of herbal ingredient that is supposed to increase breast size. I never knew Japanese women were so obsessed with that (although I did watch a recent news program that talked about how most spend $200 a week or so to bleach their skin whiter and many have painful leg surgery to lengthen their legs and make them taller). I can't believe they'd have such adoration of the looks of other cultures. That's so strange to me. The grass is always greener I guess. I'm pale to the point that one friend of mine always used to describe me as having "see-through skin." Hardly something to envy. As for the breast part, if they simply went on birth control and gained 20 pounds or so they wouldn't have to drink so much Love Body. It's just a suggestion.

A recent study of some 40-million-year old Neanderthal remains, most notably a tooth, in Greece suggest that Neanderthals traveled farther than was originally thought. Evaluation of the tooth showed that the Neanderthal in question traveled 12.5 miles from the place it was born based on mineral content found in various water sources, etc., that remained in the tooth enamel. Now, you read that first line and think, "Wow. That Neanderthal must have traveled from say, Africa, to Greece. Now THAT would have been impressive. But 12.5 miles? Are you kidding me? They're calling that "traveling?" Did they think the Neanderthals just stayed in place, hoping that food would drop down from the sky? Nearly reflecting my thoughts, the piece I was reading ended with another researcher saying just that. He said that this "discovery" doesn't really tell us anything and that he would HOPE that Neanderthals would travel at LEAST 12.5 miles within a year, let alone their lifetimes. He added, "After all, they're humans not trees." Zing!

A fossil of what many think was an ancient 7-foot-tall chicken-like animal was discovered recently in the American West. What troubled me most was the rendering of this giant chicken. I don't know how any scientist could look at it and think, "Bingo! Based on these bones, that's totally what this animal must have looked like!" It looked like a giant cartoon animal with wings that dragged to the ground and ended in claws and a very unlikely small pair of legs on which its giant chicken body danced around with crazy red and blue feathers. It was like Road Runner mated with a rooster and some kind of chicken sports mascot. So disturbing and so unlikely, just by looking at it. Unless this thing was around for a year before it was killed off by animals laughing at it, there's no way it looked like this rendering suggested. This is entirely a case where they'll have that drawing around for a decade or so and then some bored artist/scientist will come along, draw a decent drawing in correlation to the bones and everyone will say, "oh, yeah! when we said it always ran around on its spindly legs like that, towering 7 feet in the air, we were just kidding. It actually stooped. And its arms weren't long and gangly like that. Oh yeah and it didn't have some kind of creepy cartoon grin on its beak. And it wasn't bright blue. Probably. Yeah. Sorry."

In other fossil news, more than 100 fossilized dinosaur eggs also were discovered this year in India. And on some island somewhere, a researcher found the remains of 80 extinct dwarf hippopotamuses, which will help scientists reveal when the island was colonized and inhabited. I should think so! Because if you find 80 dead, dwarf hippos all in one place, odds are one guy isn't doing it alone. Who would have the patience?

This session of Early-Morning, Freaky Fact Time has been brought to you by Regan White, Coca-Cola, the Neanderthals for Traveling Rights group and one giant chicken.

February 06, 2008

This is the same woman who only weeks ago appeared on Oprah and said she has still kept her ENTIRE headband collection saying there is nothing that a good headband can't fix.

That was't even true in the '80s and '90s when she was WEARING the lame things. And please, as if we needed any further confirmation of the fact that her marriage to Bill is one of convenience and political alliance and that he's not touching her with a 10-foot pole. Headbands? Honestly? Really? The big, fat puffy kind that Talbot's models decades ago used to sport (and loathe)? Geez.

I will say, however, that despite how much I despise Hillary, it is pretty unfair that the stress of the political scene shows more visibly on her face than on her male opponents. All of those stats that physicians shill about stress really aging women much faster than men and making us appear haggard, wrinkly and horrible really are true. The shots I've seen from tonight thus far are pretty decent, but earlier today, man, whew! You put her and Obama side-by-side and Obama looks like a newborn. Hillary winds up looking like an extra in "Hocus Pocus."

Once again, I'm not generally political, but I'm glad that this election has fired people up to get involved. It's all anyone talks about and it's nice to see that people care enough about our country to actually - oh, you know - PARTICIPATE in an election. You know, do the civic duty thing and VOTE. Like all things, it's sad that it takes people getting so fed up to actually take action and get off their butts, but it's nice when it finally happens.

Still, if Hill is my Democratic option, I'll simply shoot myself. Even if she DID eat at the Doodle.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all about feminism. I'm all about supporting powerful, smart, wonderful women. I'm all for a woman in the White House.

Just not her.

P.S. My birthday today was AWESOME. Thank you to everyone who made it such a special day going out of their way to search high and low for King Cake, send me birthday wishes from India, call and leave me sweet messages (which I promise to return sometime after I interview a prospective Yale student at 6 p.m. tomorrow), go out and pick up barbecue for the office, bring me flowers at work, and on and on and on. It was one of those perfect birthdays that I went into with low expectations and just hoping to have a pretty good day. In the end, it was probably the best birthday I've had in decades. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm humbled to have such wonderful friends and loved ones. xo

February 05, 2008

And how could I forget to congratulate my all-time favorite football team on their GIANT Super Bowl win yesterday?

What a game it was!

I went to work wearing my LT jersey from years ago. Pats' fan and co-worker Bonnie Williams was out. She claimed she was sick -- sick of eating crow more like.

I laundered the shirt again tonight. Bonnie can't get out of it that easy. I plan on wearing it again tomorrow - and the rest of the week if I have to.

Tom Brady my butt.

I grew up going to all the Giants games with my dad. I had my own Giants cheerleader outfit, complete with blue and white pom-poms and all my own gear. I remember one freezing winter day the Giants were playing the Jets. I couldn't have been more than 5 years old. My dad and I ate bologna sandwiches in the car from one of our favorite delis and shared hot chocolate out of the thermos Mom had packed for us. We stayed the entire game, even as it started snowing. Other Giants fans in our section booed departing Jets fans, pointing out that even a 5-year-old Giants fan was sticking out the snow to watch the game. I felt proud.

Last night my cousins, most of whom are still in the New York/northern New Jersey area, took turns calling my dad. Their neighborhoods were abuzz with the loud bang of fireworks and screaming neighborhood kids, all celebrating the Giants' victory. It was awesome.

So eat lots of cake in my honor and get ready for the onslaught of Lent, a time for reflection, sacrifice and self-loathing. I hate Lent.

But that's not what today is about. Today is all about ... me. ;)

Actually, it doesn't feel at all like my birthday. Maybe because it's 1:30 in the morning and my sleep cycle is all off from sleeping nearly 24/7 due to this onslaught of delirious fevers I've had. I've resolved that I must have the flu like my co-worker Anna but because I had a flu shot my symptoms are severely diminished and hard to qualify. I'm achey, feverish, congested, blah-feeling -- but nothing full blown. I'm hoping it's a slight brush with the flu and that this will blow over. Every morning I wake up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I came home from work, downed a giant bowl of homemade chicken soup and promptly slept from 6 to 9 p.m. Awww yeah. I briefly considered going to the gym, as I haven't gone in days and days due to feeling nasty. I resolved that if I continue to feel nasty I'm just going to end up really fat and nasty unless I get my butt to the gym, however bad I'm feeling. Lots of good that did. Tonight I simply ended up nodding off while THINKING about heading to the gym. In all it's best I didn't go. I'm still on the mend and hey, that's what Lent is for.

I'm going to try and get -- more sleep!

But just a heads up that the campaign to save New Haven's Yankee Doodle coffee shop has launched into high gear. If you're on Facebook and have any connection to Yale or simply are into preserving American landmarks, consider joining the Save the Doodle group and donating a few dollars to save this beloved piece of New Haven history. Established in 1950 and still in its original condition (save for the addition of a stool or two), the Doodle is a symbol of campus unity and comfort food for generations of Yalies and New Haven residents. I've never been anywhere else like it in the world, and never tasted anything quite like its hot dog wrapped in bacon, fried on the grill and served up wrapped in cheese and swathed in butter, wrapped in a bun with a side of sweet barbecue relish -- all for under $2.50 if I remember correctly. Wash that down with a Vanilla Coke (made the old-fashioned, soda-fountain way) and you're good to go. If I can't take my family there in 10 years for some artery-clogging goodness then I don't really see any reason to return to Yale at all.

Third-generation Doodle owner Rick Beckwith fires up the grill in the Doodle's front window. The sizzle of the grill fell silent last week. It's up to us to ensure the grill isn't turned off for good.

February 01, 2008

The Yale community suffered a tremendous blow this week with the closing of its historic, 58-year-old establishment, The Yankee Doodle.

Affectionately known to students as "The Doodle," I was surprised to read it described as a coffee shop in the New York Times today. While they certainly served coffee, they were more famous for serving artery-clogging items like fried donuts, buttered cheeseburgers and hot dogs wrapped in bacon and swathed in butter hot off the grill.

The shop had 12 soda-shop style stools in it and the best pigs-in-a-blanket I've ever eaten in my life. I knew I had gained the freshman 15 when I finished two "Big Pigs" and contemplated ordering a third. It was my second year there that I had a five-day exam binge of no sleep that I topped off with a Doodle cheese omelet after dumping my last paper of the semester in the Anthropology House at the top of Science Hill through the snow. I remember eating two bites of the omelet. It was the first thing besides chocolate (for the caffeine - I couldn't drink coffee at the time) that I had eaten in days. No sooner did the gooey cheese, egg and butter hit my lips then my stomach turned over. I remember the owner turning to me and saying, "You don't have to finish that, honey. You don't look so good."

I found it difficult to count the money to pay. I felt like a lab monkey in a sleep deprivation study. I was hallucinating slightly and couldn't really fashion words let alone form thoughts anymore. I left the Doodle, trudged back to my room and slept nearly a straight 24 hours.

And now, the Doodle is closed. Don't do this to us, Doodle. Don't do it. The last thing Yale needs is a generic strip of upscale, trendy, yuppie offerings like that lame gourmet grocer that went in my last year there. What happened to the sketchy deli that smelled funny and was rancidly dirty but had the greatest subs ever and was open 24 hours? Oh yes, knocked down. Don't go the same way, Doodle. Don't do it.

To read the full story in the Times, click here. And pray that some wealthy alum ponies up the money to ensure the Doodle doesn't really die.